have even the poor comfort of thinking that he had no discrimination,
and was throwing himself away on a common or worthless person. Ruth
was beautiful, gentle, good, and conscientious. The hot colour
flushed up into Jemima's sallow face as she became aware that, even
while she acknowledged these excellences on Mrs Denbigh's part, she
hated her. The recollection of her marble face wearied her even to
sickness; the tones of her low voice were irritating from their very
softness. Her goodness, undoubted as it was, was more distasteful
than many faults which had more savour of human struggle in them.

"What was this terrible demon in her heart?" asked Jemima's better
angel. "Was she, indeed, given up to possession? Was not this the old
stinging hatred which had prompted so many crimes? The hatred of all
sweet virtues which might win the love denied to us? The old anger
that wrought in the elder brother's heart, till it ended in the
murder of the gentle Abel, while yet the world was young?"

"Oh, God! help me! I did not know I was so wicked," cried Jemima
aloud in her agony. It had been a terrible glimpse into the dark,
lurid gulf--the capability for evil, in her heart. She wrestled with
the demon, but he would not depart; it was to be a struggle whether
or not she was to be given up to him, in this her time of sore
temptation.

All the next day long she sat and pictured the happy strawberry
gathering going on, even then, in pleasant Scaurside Wood. Every
touch of fancy which could heighten her idea of their enjoyment, and
of Mr Farquhar's attention to the blushing, conscious Ruth--every
such touch which would add a pang to her self-reproach and keen
jealousy, was added by her imagination. She got up and walked about,
to try and stop her over-busy fancy by bodily exercise. But she had
eaten little all day, and was weak and faint in the intense heat of
the sunny garden. Even the long grass-walk under the filbert-hedge,
was parched and dry in the glowing August sun. Yet her sisters found
her there when they returned, walking quickly up and down, as if to
warm herself on some winter's day. They were very weary; and not half
so communicative as on the day before, now that Jemima was craving
for every detail to add to her agony.

"Yes! Leonard came up before Mr Farquhar. Oh! how hot it is, Jemima;
do sit down, and I'll tell you about it, but I can't if you keep
walking so!"

"I can't sit still to-day," said Jemima, sprin